


He Doesn't

by noblet



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Spouse, Comfort, Crushes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblet/pseuds/noblet
Summary: The 44th Annual Grammy Awards are right around the corner and Jon is starting to have second thoughts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I _just_ watched the interview [Stephen had with prattprattpratt the other night.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyfOyQqeYJ4&list=PLiZxWe0ejyv9F6WsyGxzbUDidO6IabSl2) You don't really need to watch it before reading this but you should probably watch it anyways.
> 
> Takes place February 2002 in Jon's office. (The same month he hosted the Grammys!)

“Another one?”

Jon nods slowly. He watches as Stephen places drink number three within his reach.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. He picks up the glass and gulps its contents down. The terrible taste has grown to become a form of punishment, Jon thinks.

 _Punishment for what?_ Stephen would ask.

 _For being a fucking idiot,_ Jon would reply.

“Nervous?” Stephen asks the question even though he already knows the answer. Jon’s leg has been bouncing up and down for the past ten minutes. 

He follows Stephen’s gaze down to his own shaking knee and looks at him sheepishly. He makes an effort to stop moving it, but then he feels the sudden urge to spin a pen around his fingers instead and the leg starts bouncing again.

“A little bit,” Jon replies. 

Stephen shrugs. “Six days." 

He groans. “Don't remind me.”

“I'm just jealous you get to go to California.”

"Sure you are. You're secretly rooting that I fuck up in front of twenty million people.”

Stephen gasps in faux shock. “Jon! I would _never_ ,” he says through a smile. He leans into the desk, traces the indents Jon’s scratched into the wood with the tips of dried-out ballpoint pens. “You’re gonna do great.”

He groans again. “I know.” He pauses and waits for Stephen to laugh at his uncharacteristic confidence. He doesn't. “I'm just… I don't know. Scared. Twenty million people,” Jon breathes.

“Why'd you accept the offer then?"

“I thought I'd be good for it! But last month they sent me this huge script and a list of what to do and not do and there are all these bits I have to memorize. Memorize!” He picks up the glass again but finds it empty. Stephen doesn't move.

“You embarrassed?”

“A little, yeah.”

Stephen sighs and leans in. He rests his cheek on his palm _,_ looks outside the window behind Jon instead of making eye contact.

“I did a nude scene when I was nineteen,” Stephen sighs. 

Jon stifles a laugh. “What? Like a porno?”

“No!” Stephen bites. “Like a stage bit.” Jon can already tell he regrets bringing it up. “It was the worst three minutes of my acting career.”

Jon thinks about making a joke. He doesn't.

“How was it the worst?”

Stephen shoots him a look and Jon backs down.

“Why'd you agree to do it?” He asks instead.

Stephen smirks. “I was a _very_ confident teenager.”

This time, Jon _does_ laugh. He collapses onto the desk and buries his face into his arms before coming up for air. Stephen smiles. “I'm sure you can't do any worse than I did. Twenty million people? Whatever. They're all just pining for their favorite celebrity's name to be mentioned for two seconds. Fifty people staring at your dick? _That_ builds character.” 

Jon grins. “Thanks for that.” He takes Stephen’s hand across the desk without thinking and waits for him to flinch, to pull away.

He doesn't.

“I've seen photos of you as a teenager,” Jon adds in a quieter tone.

Stephen raises an amused brow. “Yeah?”

“Pretty, uh, nerdy kid,” Jon says. 

“Oh, fuck off." He rolls his eyes in response.

“But you were, weren’t you?”

“I was. And how about you? If you say all you did was smoke weed, not much as changed, then."

Only Stephen can make him laugh this hard when he's this nervous. Jon chokes back a shitty retort, lets go of Stephen’s hand, ignores the warm feeling that stays in his palm.

“Thanks for the drink,” Jon murmurs.

“No problem,” Stephen says, leaning back in his chair. “Thanks for letting me host while you're gone.”

“At least I'm not making you do it in the nude, right?” Jon laughs. The anxiety is gone for now.

Stephen shakes his head, shrugs. “You know I wouldn't say no.”

Jon laughs again and swivels around in his chair, grabs his jacket. "Time to go?" He points at the clock. Nine _. It's already nine._

"Sure." Stephen picks up the glasses and sets them on a tiny desk that sits in the corner of the room. He opens the office door unceremoniously and Jon follows.

"See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow."

And Jon kisses him, just for the hell of it. Just so he can see how Stephen responds. Just so he can determine if he is, in fact, an idiot for hoping he can make this happen or not. He presses their lips together in one fluid motion and Stephen makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat. He cups Stephen's cheeks in his palms and tilts his chin down so he can gain more leverage, and his heart rises in his chest, rises, rises. He waits for Stephen to make a weird sound, to pull away, to look at him with wild eyes and reject him now so Jon won't spend a countless amount of years wondering  _what if...?_

They part and Jon stares at Stephen's shadow-splayed face and waits for the harsh words to come. 

Instead, Stephen, much to Jon's relief,  _smiles._

" _Jon_ ," he starts, dumb grin growing on his face. "I like you, too."


End file.
